The Crow and the Forrest

The forrest was lush and green in the late summer evening. It was quiet, except for the rustling of leaves and the various small animals. A crow was flying through the branches, carrying a nut to crack somewhere. It sailed across the last branches into a clearing, where a figure cloaked in black stood.

The figure looked up, hollow eyesockets watching the bird as it stroked the fur of an old fox laying in it's arms.

The crow startled and made sure to get away as quickly as possible. By the time it may have gotten to think about what it saw, it had already forgotten. It had a nut to crack after all.